


Bonds

by railise



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-24
Updated: 2011-05-24
Packaged: 2017-10-19 17:59:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/203677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/railise/pseuds/railise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur faces his impending coronation following his father's death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bonds

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Round 10 of 4_evermore's Arthur/Gwen Last Author Standing at LiveJournal. _Prompt:_ Uther dies. Arthur becomes KING. **Warning** for a snippet of not-very-graphic sex.

Arthur stared sightlessly into the courtyard. In the back of his mind, he noted that the area was packed with mourners, clutching candles in silent vigil against the darkening of the day. However, he did not consciously realize it.

He could not think. All he could do was feel: loss, pain... fear.

It had never been only the two of them, their small family; their lives were too public for that. Still, there had been a bit of that bond, despite being perpetually surrounded by other occupants and staff of the castle. It changed when Morgana joined them, but had not dissipated. That unique connection remained-- man to man, current king to future king, father to son.

Now, it was all gone. And it was not just their relationship which was lost; Uther was also the closest link Arthur had to his mother. They may not have spoken of her, yet Ygraine was an implied presence between them. Or, perhaps that had all been in Arthur’s mind, wishful thinking at which the king would have scoffed. Whether it had been real or imagined, it was ended, and it was as though a piece of him had been carved away. Uther Pendragon had not been an easy man, and he had made many unpardonable mistakes. Despite it all, he was Arthur's father, a fact few people seemed to acknowledge as they rushed around to entomb the late king and crown the new one.

Somewhere, Arthur's only remaining immediate blood relation was scheming to bring him down, no doubt toasting the death of their parent.

And tomorrow, he was expected to appear in the throne room immediately after witnessing Uther's entombment. He would have to stand in front of hundreds of people and instill in them the belief that they could trust him to be their leader. They could not be able to tell how encompassing his grief was; they could not be allowed to sense how terrified he was at the knowledge that this time, his rule was not temporary. When he had stepped up in the past, Arthur had figured that he would be handing the command back to Uther, despite whatever afflictions had befallen the elder Pendragon at those times. That would never again be the case.

The most terrifying prospect of all was being expected to survive the next day. If he could choose between going through all of those motions or singlehandedly facing down Morgause’s immortal army, he would pick up his sword in a heartbeat. He wished he had such a choice.

A gentle touch on his arm managed to get his attention, though he had not heard anyone enter the chambers. As he turned his head to look at her, Guinevere said softly, “Come to bed, Arthur.” For once, it was not an invitation, nor was it a seduction when she divested him of his clothes before guiding him onto the mattress. He usually held her when they were in bed, but tonight, she gathered him close and held him as he laid on her stomach and cried. She continued to hold him until he finally drifted off to sleep, perhaps the only way he would have been able to do so. When he woke the next morning, he was still in her arms, although they had shifted somewhat in the night so that he was embracing her, too. She was also watching him, apparently having awoken first.

His initial inclination was to thank her for her understanding, but instead, he leaned up and kissed her— and once he did, he suddenly needed her on a very basic level. The rest of the day was going to be about Camelot’s crown prince becoming king; right now, he needed only to be a man making love to his wife. It was fast, and desperate. Her moans drowned out the doubts in his head; her fingernails digging into his back demonstrated that some pain could be good; her slick heat clenching around him as she reached her release and triggered his own, brought a deeper completion for him: the reminder that he was still part of someone.

They had only just finished dressing when there was a knock on the door, and Merlin entered at Arthur’s summons. Setting a large breakfast tray on the table, he said gently, “The escort will be here in half an hour.” Arthur began to ask why he had brought the meal so late, but caught something in Merlin’s expression that suggested he may have stopped by earlier than this.

Appreciating his tact, Arthur nodded. “Thank you.” At first, it was simply gratitude for the food and the consideration. But then, it hit Arthur how many countless times over the years Merlin had supported him, in large ways and in small. He had only ever known one other servant to show that sort of devotion, and he would be crowning her as his queen that evening. Merlin had already bowed and was moving toward the door, but Arthur caught his arm long enough to stop him. “Thank you for everything.”

Merlin’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, and while he smiled in return, it was tinged with a great deal of empathy. “It’s my pleasure.” He also apparently recognized that Arthur had no idea what to say from there, and gestured toward the table. “You should eat.”

In truth, Arthur was not hungry, but when Guinevere began putting together a dish for him, he decided it was easier to at least make the pretense of eating than to put them both off. Merlin took his leave, and Arthur joined Gwen at the table. Her appetite seemed no better than his, and most of the food remained untouched on their plates when there was another knock on the door a short while later. The sound hit him like a fist.

It was time to entomb the king.

Looking over at Guinevere, he knew the deep sadness in her gaze was for him alone, not grief for the deceased; nor could he blame her for that. All he could do was appreciate that she was so compassionate as to extend such sympathy to him when it could only be a relief to her that Uther was gone. He rose when she got to her feet, and waited for her to join him. She slipped her hand into his and gave it a squeeze, and murmured, “You will get through this.”

Blinking against the sudden dampness in his eyes, he could do little more than offer her a brief smile, unable to speak just then. There was a rapping on the door again, and he looked at it, lifting his chin and squaring his shoulders. His personal guard were in the corridor to escort the couple to Uther’s chambers; Sir Leon, Sir Elyan, and Sir Lancelot in front of them, Sir Gwaine and Sir Percival at the rear.

The council and a handful of high-ranking guests were gathered outside the king’s rooms, but Arthur barely took note of them. Gaius, Merlin, and Geoffrey awaited them within, having prepared the body and arranged it on a pallet for the journey to the crypts. Everyone had already been instructed as to what they would do, and took up their positions around the bed; when they were all in place, they lifted the pallet as one and processed out of the room. Arthur and Leon were at the lead, on either side of the king’s head, with Percival and Lancelot at his feet. Guinevere was immediately behind, with Elyan and Gwaine as her escorts. Geoffrey, Gaius, and Merlin followed them, and the rest of the gathering fell into step by rank as they made their way through the castle and to the crypt.

Arthur could not look at the enshrouded form beside him, keeping his eyes straight ahead. When they reached the stairs, he and Sir Leon had to raise their end of the pallet to keep it as close as possible to level as the foot of it, and that actually helped, giving him a practical task on which to focus. That came to an end as they laid their burden in the open tomb, and the enormity of what they were doing flooded him all over again. As if on cue, Guinevere’s hand slipped into his once more. Although he did not hear a word that Geoffrey said, Arthur was able to keep steady when the marble slab bearing Uther’s likeness was pushed into place, sealing the man who had united Camelot away forever.

Arthur would never see his father again. It still did not seem real.

Nor did it seem real as the procession made its way to the throne room, where a much larger group of people was gathered. Horns blared as they entered, people swept low, and Arthur felt like he was moving through a very strange dream as he made his way down the long gallery. Guinevere had to step aside then, taking her place nearby as he faced Geoffrey. While he was capable of facing this on his own, it helped that she was nearby.

It was the vows that brought everything back to reality. As he accepted each responsibility Geoffrey laid before him, Arthur realized exactly what it was he was agreeing to. Camelot was his now, his responsibility to protect and lead, and he would do so to his dying breath. He had never been one to take a task lightly, yet the only other one he had ever felt to his soul before was when he had married Guinevere three months earlier. And, as he was devoted to her, so too was he devoted to this kingdom. The crown was heavy when Geoffrey placed it on his head, but Arthur knew he could bear that weight.

Turning as the crowd burst into applause, King Arthur faced his people.


End file.
